Thrasher, Brown. Brown Thrush 



The brown thrasher calls half furtively, half archly, 

 from the tree-top back in the bushy pastures: ''Croquet, 

 croquet, hit it, hit it, come to me, come to me, tight it, 

 tight it, you're out, you're out." 



Burroughs. Pepacton.^ 



Cherruwit, cherruwit, go ahead, go ahead, give it to 

 him, give it to him, etc. 



Thoreau. Excursions.^"^ 



As affording some Hght on the popular name of " thrasher, " 

 I might mention the remark of a certain matter-of-fact 

 rustic who answered my query for enlightenment upon 

 the subject — " Some fokes sez it's becuz he's ahz a-thrashin' 

 around so in the bushes, 'n 'others sez it's becuz he's ferever 

 teUin' uv 'em to 'thrash it, thrash it!' But thet's all 

 puppy cut; he sez enny thing you like." 



Gibson. Strolls by Starlight and Sunshine.^^ 



The wise thrush, he sings each song twice over, 



Lest you fear he never could recapture 



That first fine careless rapture. Selected. 



The Brown Thrush 



''There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree, 

 He's singing to me! He's singing to me!" 

 And what does he say, little girl, little boy? 

 "Oh, the world's running over with joy! 

 Don't you hear? don't you see? 

 Hush! Look! In my tree 

 I'm as happy, as happy can be!" 



154 



